Alphabet challenge: 26 oneshots inspired by songs
by Rien's Sunset
Summary: Inspired to try this by my fanfic idol AllStarz, 26 oneshots based on a song starting with each letter. Style, Kyman, Stendy, KennyXvarious. Also featuring Craig! Angst, romance, drama, humor! NOTE: oneshots don't follow one timeline. Mature content.
1. A is for At the bottom

**A is for At the bottom**

"_And there's a lake, and at the bottom you'll find all my friends,  
__They don't swim 'cause they're all dead, we never are what we intend or invent;  
_'_Cause I make little lies and then I pull them apart  
__Think something dark's living down in my heart;  
__And if I wanted to die before I got old,  
__I should have started some years ago digging that hole…  
__I stole bricks from the dam almost every day, now I'm drowning in the flood I made;  
__Well, explain myself to me on the other side, I'll watch from heaven when I die."_

* * *

_What am I looking for?_

I exhaled in short spurts, keeping my lips round. Perfect smoke rings floated in the air above me, one after the other, until they faded into the sky. It probably wasn't a good thing that I had come to depend on weed to calm me down, but so far, it was the only thing working – and it felt like I had tried everything else.

With a long sigh I eased myself back onto the grass and closed my eyes. I hated when spring came early; all it meant was hot, sticky weather and bugs. Still, I appreciated the ability to come here, to the pond where we had spent so much time as kids, and smoke a joint without getting frostbite.

_I guess there's just no making me happy._

Happiness. I struggled to keep the incredulous smirk off my face as I repeated it over and over in my head, and wondered if I really wasn't happy, or whether I was just pretending I wasn't so I would have an excuse for this behavior. Avoiding my friends. Letting my grades drop. All that normal teenage angst bullshit I had always tried so hard to evade. And yet here I was, age eighteen, on the cusp of adulthood and still feeling like a whiny little bitch who couldn't accept that yeah, life gets harder as you get older.

Another long drag and I started to feel my body relax completely, like I was sinking into the ground. That would be nice, actually, to stay comatose in oneness with the earth.

"Kyle?"

_Mother fucker._

"Kyle, are you over here?"

I listened to the crunching of branches under heavy, panicked footsteps and sat up begrudgingly, half of the joint still sticking out from between my lips. A moment later, Stan appeared from within a wall of bushes, face red, lips parted, eyebrows nearly together. He was pissed.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"What?" I looked up at him lazily from behind red eyes.

"Kyle, you can't just skip class for three days and expect no one's gonna catch on! Fuck man, what the hell is going on with you?"

I shrugged and looked away, turning my head to blow smoke in the direction opposite Stan. When I glanced over at him again, his face had changed from angry, to disappointed. He looked completely crestfallen.

_Damn it._

"Sorry…" I muttered, without really meaning it.

"You're not fucking sorry," He breathed, taking two steps to stand right above me. "In case you forgot, I've known you since kindergarten, and I know that if you were really sorry you would have stood up and looked me in the eye. You used to have the guts to admit you were wrong." Without knowing how to reply, I simply sat there. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Stan stared down at me, unreadable. Or maybe he wasn't, but I was stoned and couldn't be bothered to make the effort.

"You're pathetic, Kyle Broflovski."

_What?_

I shook my head once. "Sorry?"

"Pathetic. Absolutely, one hundred percent pathetic."

I pulled one last time on the joint, felt the heat tingle against my lips and spat the butt into the grass beside me.

"And what would you prefer, Stan?" I swayed dangerously as I got to my feet, unstable from the effects of the pot. Confusion flickered over my friend's face for a brief moment, and then was replaced almost immediately by hurt and anger.

"I want you to be my best friend again," His voice wavered, like he was scared of the weight in his words. "I want you to stop lying and pretending. I'm fucking sick of watching you fade away."

I gave him a weak smile, exposing only half my teeth. "I really hoped that you wouldn't be the one to do this."

"Huh?"

"Pfft. I expected it of someone like my mom, to give me this talk. You were supposed to understand." I was already playing the guilt card and it made me want to vomit. I cast a fleeting glance at the pond, and suddenly wondered what it would feel like to sit at the bottom and stare up at the sky through the water. Until I drowned, that is. My eyes darted back to Stan; whose mouth was moving but no sound was coming out, and hated myself for accusing him of being in the wrong. He was right – I had gotten a little too accustomed to lying.

"You're going to d-…" Stan's words trailed off and he looked at the ground. Weird, how he lost his nerve so quickly.

"What did you say?" I tried to keep my tone innocent.

"I said you're going to die, Kyle, fuck."

I barely kept from bursting out laughing. "I'm going to die?"

_I'm only finding this funny because I'm high._

"Fuck you," He snarled, turning on his heel. "Go to hell."

"Stan, wait…" I suppressed my laughter and willed sincerity to ring in my voice. I don't think it worked.

"No, Kyle, no," He turned around sharply and I almost crashed into him as I reached out to stop his departure. "If you're going to spend all your time stealing bricks from the dam, then you'd better be fucking prepared to deal with the flood."

_Wow. _

I tilted my head and watched as he disappeared into the brush. My whole body felt heavy, but I think it was the weed more than anything else. I never intended to have that happen – in fact, in my selfishness, it hadn't even occurred to me that I was damaging other people when I was damaging myself. Then again, I never intended to be sitting beside a pond, smoking joints and wondering what it would feel like to drown. I guess that was what happened when you started floods.

_I am going to die. I'm going to die under the mountain looking for gold._

* * *

_Author's note: I do not own any part of Brand New or their material/songs._


	2. B is for Bitches

**B is for Bitches**

"_Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can rock,  
__Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can rhyme,  
__Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can fuck,  
__Bitches love me 'cause they know that I'm on time…  
__This is how it should be done, this style, style, style, done!"_

* * *

"Dude, there are so many girls here!" Stan's excited yelps reminded me of the way he used to talk when we were kids. I looked up at him from where I was seated on top of my favorite amp, picking away absent-mindedly on my Les Paul to ensure the tuning I had finished earlier hadn't changed. My cell phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket: text from Kyle.

"Stop being a dork and go get Kyle," I kicked in Stan's direction but fell short of making contact. "He forgot his pass and security are being douchebags, apparently." My dark-haired friend heaved a sigh and withdrew his head from where he had been peering through the curtain, touching his own backstage pass in what I assumed was to make sure _he_ would be able to get back in. No sooner had Stan disappeared than one of my roadies – Derek, I think – came skidding around the sound techs and almost tripped clear over me.

"You've… got… visitors!" He huffed, bending at the waist to catch his breath. I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, we've been over this before," I reached out and patted him patronizingly on the top of his head. "You don't need to run when it's girls. They can wait. They've been waiting this long, what's another couple minutes, right?"

"Right…" He tapped his temple. "You want me to show them in?"

"How long have I got?"

"Opening band starts in fifteen; you guys go on right after."

"So I've got… what… with set up and tear down… just over an hour?"

"Yeah, bring 'em to the lounge." I watched Derek scamper off and realized I forgot to ask how many there were. At least that was the nice thing about this venue – upstairs, above the stage, there was this room reserved for the musicians to chill out before going onstage. It was particularly helpful for me, since the door had a nice big bolt lock and I usually had plenty of reason to use it.

As I left my guitar on its stand and started up the rickety old stairs, I thought about Stan and Kyle coming back to find nothing but my band mates and crew. _Oh well, they can entertain themselves_. Guilt was not an emotion I felt easily, and much less when there were women involved. I hadn't even sat down when there was frantic knocking on the lounge door.

_Boo-yeah._

"Enter!" I called, mustering the most regal tone I could think of. Hell, if these girls were about to treat me like a king, there was no reason to _not_ act like one, right? My head was flooded with images of me sitting on a throne instead of this shitty, worn-out couch, crown crooked atop my head, commanding busty maidens to my every will. Hysterical laughter ensued.

"K-Kenny?" An uneasy, high-pitched female voice floated into the room and my laughter died down to a soft giggle.

"Right here, babe," I craned my neck to see if I could spot her before she saw me. I hated the stupid way the door was around a corner. The first thing I noticed was her hair; a wild mess of glossy brown curls that hit her shoulders with each step. _Distracting_, I thought critically, eyeing the rest of her. The system I used was simple: six key points on a woman's body (five visible); each gets a rating from one to five. If she scores lower than fifteen, no dice. Kyle says that's shallow. I say that's how you fuck hot chicks and leave instead of getting bagged with ugly chicks that cling. And believe you me – ugly chicks cling.

I heard a second set of footsteps and knew I only had a few seconds to score the first one before I had to try and do two at once. Lips – four. Boobs – three. Hips – three. Legs – four. Fourteen so far and I hadn't even seen her ass or pussy… and you can't score zeros. At least, I've yet to meet a chick who scored zeros.

"Okay, you're good." I spoke out loud without thinking.

"Excuse me?" She took another step closer to me, biting down on her glossy red lower lip. Damn, I love when girls bite their lips.

"Uh, nothing." I waved my hand dismissively, looking around her to see who was next. I had always been a 'grass is greener on the other side' kind of guy. The other one was a blonde – figures, there's always at least one blonde – who I rated damn near 25. Legs were a little skinny for my tastes, but man, did she have some knockers.

"Wow… you're really hot," The blonde one tossed her hair and without hesitation sat down right next to me. Pretty bold move. "Sandra, come sit!" Her brunette friend looked much more nervous; it was probably her first time doing this. I was going to wreck her. To unnerve her a little more – one of my personal pleasures – I didn't take my eyes off her as she crossed the room and sat on my other side. The blonde one was already running her fingers over my shoulder and thigh. Good thing, too: I didn't have time to waste.

More frantic knocking on the door – definitely Derek again. I thanked my lucky stars for that bolt lock and without stopping my thrusts I yelled,

"What?"

"Kenny, you guys are going on in ten minutes, I think you should get down here!" Fuck, that kid was annoying. _Ten minutes, eh?_

"That's plenty of time!" I dug my fingers into Sandra's hips and sped up my pounding, smiling down at the scene before me. Talented though I was, I could only fuck one girl at a time, so I sat the hotter blonde one on the couch and let her friend eat her out while I banged her from behind. It worked well.

"Um, don't you think you should… uh… be… dressed and ready to go by the time you're supposed to go onstage?" Derek's voice was muffled by the door, but more muffled by the two girls' moans. I started to feel lightheaded and knew I wasn't going to be much longer anyway.

"Fuck off, Derek!" The words barely made it out over my heavy breaths. Sandra began to scream into the blonde's bare pussy, signaling her orgasm. I let myself go as well, and for a long moment afterward there was nothing but panting and a sticky wet feeling. In the silence, I could hear Derek pacing outside the door.

"Ken-…"

"I'm coming!" I snapped impatiently, withdrawing from Sandra and collecting my scattered clothes. Glancing down at my watch, I snorted and realized why my little roadie had been getting worried. The rest of my band was due to be walking onto the stage at this exact moment and I was still half-naked, glistening with sweat and smelling like sex.

"Girls," I tipped an invisible hat in their direction. "Thanks for the time – the band that just finished should be due up here any second. Should Derek stall them or are you ready for round two?" I didn't even bother checking to see if they nodded or not. In one motion I pulled on my shirt, picked up my runners and headed for the door.

_Round two it is._

Derek's blue eyes were wide as I stepped onto the landing. "You're supposed to be…"

"On stage, I know," I finished his sentence and walked down the stairs barefoot, unlacing my shoes as I went. "Thanks for keeping tabs, Derrrrrrr-ek." I laughed to myself at his crushed expression. It wasn't my fault if I could make his name sound retarded.

"Dude, where the heck have you been?" Kyle's voice pierced my thoughts and brought me down from my sex-high quicker than I would have liked. I took a seat on the floor, since my amp had already been put on the stage, and slipped into my shoes.

"And you smell like…" Stan stopped mid-sentence, and I guessed that he knew what he was about to say was exactly what had happened. "Gross, man."

"Hey, I live the life of a rock star!" I smirked coyly at him and swung my guitar over my shoulder. Both my friends crossed their arms and gave me that 'you're-kind-of-disgusting-but-we're-totally-jealous' expression. At least, that was how I chose to interpret it.

"Just go play," Kyle sighed, pushing me towards the stage. "And try not to have sex with anyone while you're doing that too, okay?"

"No promises," I turned my back on him. "What can I say – bitches love me!"

* * *

_Author's note: I do not own any part of Mindless Self Indulgence or their material/songs_


	3. C is for Cute without the E

**C is for Cute without the E**

"_Don't bother trying to explain, angel  
__I know exactly what goes on when you're on and  
__How about I'm outside of your window, watching him keep the details covered  
__You're such a sucker for a sweet talker…  
__Hoping for the best, just hoping nothing happens  
__A thousand clever lines unread on clever napkins  
__I will never ask if you don't ever tell me  
__I know you well enough to know you never loved me…"_

* * *

"You lying, cock-sucking bitch!" Blind with rage, I reached for the closest item in range. My fingers wrapped tightly around what I think was a straightening iron, and I hurled it at the opposite wall. There was a loud bang as it left a nice big crack in the drywall and fell – in two pieces – to the floor.

"Watch it, you almost hit me!" Wendy's shrill voice made my blood boil, but instead of throwing something else I put all my energy into focusing my eyesight. I glanced briefly at where the iron had damaged the wall, and then locked my gaze on the Wendy. It hadn't even come _close_ to hitting her.

"You really can't stop lying, can you?" I advanced on her, and smirked a little as fear grew in her eyes. I was a good foot taller and probably seventy pounds heavier than she was – and I never got aggressive like this. Good, she should be scared.

"Stan, I didn't lie, I…"

"Oh, just shut the fuck up, Wendy!" My hands curled into fists without my telling them to do so and it took a disproportionate amount of strength to release them. "Your mouth keeps moving and that's what got us here, isn't it?"

Tears began welling up in her eyes. I felt nothing.

"I'm sorry…"

"HA!" My sarcastic chortle seemed to shock her, and I turned my back so I wouldn't do anything I would regret. "You're sorry, eh? And I should believe that why, exactly? Like I said, you keep lying, your mouth keeps moving. So tell me, Wendy, please tell me – why the fuck should I believe a god damn word you have to say?" There was a long moment of silence. I knew she had nothing.

"You don't underst-…"

"Understand?" True disbelief rang in my voice as I cut her off yet again. "Are you seriously telling me I don't understand?"

"Yes…?"

"Don't answer my question with a question. That makes it easy for you."

"Then… yes. You don't understand."

I picked up the next thing I could find – something I was more than happy to smash. It was a picture of Wendy and I from high school, sometime in the summer between grade ten and eleven. We were sitting on the big rock at Stark's Pond, smiling like idiots. I seemed to remember Kyle taking that picture.

"_I_ don't understand," I repeated her words, keeping my voice even, and fingered the stupid pink picture frame before turning to face her again. "And, pray tell, what part don't I understand?"

"Wh… What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. What part of this situation don't I understand? The part where you lied to me and said that you were working evening shifts the past few weeks because you were 'training' a new employee? The part where you assured me that this new employee, despite being good-looking and flirting with you, was 'too young' for you? The part where I found condom wrappers in your bedroom's trash? Or the part where I saw you with your legs over some other guy's shoulders – a guy who I can only assume is this 'new employee'?" I held up my fingers to make little quotation marks and gave her the smarmiest expression I could. She folded her arms and, of course, I couldn't help notice the cleavage protruding from her low-cut tank top. _Damn it, that's not going to distract me_, I thought, and starting tossing the picture frame from one hand to the other.

"Put that down." Her voice was suddenly assertive, and it took me a moment to process that she has just tried to give me an order. Maybe she was past the fear and into annoyance now, but I wasn't going to let that last for long. Carefully, I aimed for a few inches above her head and whipped the picture with all my might. I wasn't the best pitcher in South Park for nothing.

She screamed as broken glass showered her, and I felt smug about the fact that she was barefoot and I hadn't bothered to take off my shoes.

"Maybe stepping on shards of glass will help you start to see how much pain I'm in," I continued to keep my voice steady, though I really was breaking on the inside. "You haven't answered my question yet either."

"Why should I tell you anything?" Wendy's tone was halfway between defiant and pathetic, like she couldn't make up her mind if she was going to tell me or not, so she was just stalling for time. It pissed me off.

"For fuck's sake, just answer the question, it's really not that hard," I stepped within arm's reach of her, and forcefully grabbed her chin. "I want to hear it all, Wendy. Let's hear why you were willing to throw away seven years of a meaningful relationship for some quick fuck."

"That's just it, Stan! God, you're so dense!" Wendy knocked my hand away. "You can't even see that maybe I needed something more than longevity!"

"Is that a shot?" I asked, incredulous.

"No, your penis is fine," She rolled her blue-gray eyes dramatically. "It's just, like, I'm twenty now, and… well… did you really think we were going to end up married or something?"

Her words gave me major déjà-vu, like I had lived this moment before. It was nauseating, and I desperately wanted to break something else. To be honest, I wanted to destroy everything in her room. Everything that _he_ had touched, everything that she had touched with her little whore hands.

"You know," My voice was barely more than a whisper. "You could have at least had the common decency to break up with me first."

"You think it's that simple?" Tears were now streaming down her cheeks, leaving subtle salt stains in their path. "I still love you, Stan, and I didn't know what to do. It was confusing, it was…"

I chose to stop listening. I refused to believe that what she was telling me was any kind of excuse for what happened – in my mind, it was all pretty cut and dry. You're not interested in the relationship anymore; you break up with the person you're with before moving on.

"…and I guess that's why…"

"Stop talking," I growled dangerously once I had tuned back in. "Don't bother – there's no excuse. And I'm done trying to listen to the garbage coming out of your mouth. Good bye, Wendy." I clenched my teeth together as hard as I possibly could to stop what I knew were inevitable tears. I just didn't want her to see them. I was leaving this fight, no, this relationship angry, whether I was dying inside or not.

"Stan! No, wait!" She chased me as I hurried out of her bedroom and into the living room of her apartment. My left hand was on the doorknob when she caught up, and she grabbed my right hand in her smooth, warm fingers. I knew there was no way I could talk without crying, so I simply looked down at her, my eyes dull and empty.

"I still love you," She pleaded, sobbing into my shoulder. I pulled away from her and turned my head so she wouldn't see me wipe away a few tears of my own. Weak man, I'm totally weak.

"You're… you're…" I took a long, deep breath. "You're lying again. I know you well enough, Wendy. If you ever loved me, at any point in the last seven years, you wouldn't have done this. You're not the cheating type – not if the person means anything to you."

"That's… that's not true!" She looked up at me with huge, glassy eyes; her fingers were clutching my favorite soft blue sweater. Suddenly I didn't like it so much and I shifted uncomfortably out of her grasp. I had to leave before I started over-thinking it, before I started missing her. I placed my hand against the doorknob and waited to see what she should do. Fuck, now I'm stalling.

"Good bye, Wendy," I tried again, feeling the knot of guilt, resentment and regret growing with every second that passed. The beautiful young woman beside me muttered something incoherent through quiet weeping, and I made the mistake of asking,

"What?"

"I said, after seven years… you're not… even going to give me… a second chance?" Her words were slow and paced, like she was measuring the weight of each one before proceeding. I could feel my temper flaring up again at the ridiculousness of her accusation. _Now it's my fault?_

"And I was _this_ close to leaving feeling pretty shitty," I murmured under my breath, releasing the door knob. "You just had to get the last word in, didn't you? Is that what you'd prefer? To end this making it out to be my fault? Is that what you're going to tell all your friends when they ask what happened?"

"You're being stupid, Stan," She was still crying, but her voice wasn't shaking anymore. "I made a mistake. I know I said some mean things a few minutes ago but I was angry, mostly at myself… I didn't know what I was saying. I was scared. Please… don't walk out on something this good."

I snorted loudly through my nose. "You and I differ greatly on our definition of the word 'good'. Now stop being a manipulative bitch and let me leave."

"Oh that's good Stan, call me names," She crossed the apartment and stood on the other side of her coffee table – what I presumed she thought was a safe distance away from me. "I'm trying to make this right, can't you see that? Why can't you just grow up and accept my apology?" Even though I was incredibly pissed, I was almost at the point of finding her behavior humorous. As if I was actually crying a minute ago over losing her. These are the kind of people I can do without.

"Why are you dragging this out?"

"Because I want us to work!"

"Oh really? Is that why you said, not…" I checked my watch. "…not ten minutes ago, 'did you really think we were going to end up married or something'?" I mimicked her voice offensively, and she made a face at me.

"You're taking that out of context."

"Look Wendy, I don't care about this anymore, I really don't," I was lying through my teeth, but she didn't need to know that. "You can fuck whoever you want whenever you want now, because this is over. No second chances. And you can take that to all your stupid little girlfriends and you can cry and eat ice cream and bitch and moan about what an ASSHOLE Stan Marsh is."

"You'll want me back, and I'm not going to give _you_ a second chance!"

"Nice last-ditch effort, but I don't give two shits about what you do from here on. If that's your idea of putting a gun to my head – I think you're out of bullets."

"Fuck you, Stan."

"No thanks," I finally opened the door and stepped into the hallway, ignoring the overwhelming weight I felt in my chest, unsure of whether it was anger, hurt, or a violent combination of both. "I hope you know that I'm burning every picture I have of you." The response was the door being slammed in my face. I remarked how quickly she had been able to cross her apartment before starting down the hallway, a sinking, hollow feeling filling me from head to toe.

As I exited the building, I pulled off my blue sweater – still crinkled where Wendy had been clinging to it – and tossed it in the dumpster as I walked by. I didn't want to admit it, but I was terrified that if I didn't get rid of everything that reminded me of her, she would be the only person who could make me feel anything… even if those feelings made me want to shatter apart.

* * *

_Author's note: I do not own any part of Taking Back Sunday or their material/songs_


	4. D is for Demons

**D is for Demons**

"_Honest is easy, fiction's where genius lies  
__Because it's easier sometimes  
__Not to be involved – somehow I make you believe…  
__When I speak I cross my fingers  
__Will you know you've been deceived?  
__I find the need to be the demon  
__A demon cannot be hurt…"_

* * *

I clasped my hands behind my back, both index and middle fingers crossed. It made me feel like a kid again, since I knew very well that crossing your fingers was not a perquisite for lying, but something about it was special. Like a power only I had.

"Craig Tucker, are you listening to me?" Our high school's principal, Mrs. MacLennan, rapped her fingers impatiently against the wood of her desk. I let out a long, pointed sigh.

"Yes ma'am." I lied.

"Then what did I ask you?" She looked at me over her thick-rimmed glasses and I closed my eyes, trying to remember what she had said.

"I have no idea."

She crossed her arms. "I asked if you were going to admit to spray painting all the lockers in the south wing."

"No ma'am." I fought back my groan of boredom – she knew it was me who had done it, fuck, you could still see some of the colors under my fingernails.

"Craig, it bothers me that this is the fourth time this week I've seen you sent down here. You've been acting out more and more, and it's starting to get destructive for the school. Is there something you need to talk about?"

_Not with you_, I thought, but bit my tongue. _Not with anyone, actually_.

"No ma'am."

She pursed her lips. "Four times is enough for suspension."

"Okay." Frankly, I didn't give a shit if I got suspended or not. Things were bad enough as it was, I couldn't see suspension making it that much worse – but my disinterest obviously perturbed the principal enough to make her face turn bright red in frustration. I had always been an unresponsive kid, what the hell did she think made her so special?

"Well, if it doesn't matter so much I suppose it would be in my best interest to suspend you, hmm?" She pulled a form out of her desk and paused, pen in hand, looking up at me. "Last chance, Craig. If you want to talk to the councilor or myself about what's causing this behavior, then I don't have to do this." I glanced down at her hand, which was trembling slightly. See, this was why I had no respect for our school's administration: they were a bunch of fucking pussies. _Just suspend me already and get it over with_.

"No thank you," I kept my gaze averted as she breathed out loudly through her nostrils and began filling out the suspension form. "Can I go home now?"

"Not quite," She replied, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "I'd like you to go to all your teachers and get the homework they have planned for the next week. Suspension doesn't mean holidays – and I expect you'll have all the work done."

"Yes ma'am," I uncrossed the fingers on my left hand as I extended it to take the form from her, but kept the right fingers crossed. I wasn't going to do any bullshit homework.

* * *

I walked home lazily, tilting my face towards the sunlight. It was rare, in the heart of winter, to get a clear day. Sure, it was still fucking freezing outside, but at least it was bright, and whether anyone believed me or not, I really enjoyed the sun.

"Fag! Hey, fag!" The ever-familiar and extraordinarily annoying voice of Eric Cartman drifted over the snow and into my ears. And here I thought I was going to have a nice, peaceful afternoon.

"What do you want?" I turned in the direction his voice had come from and scanned the white landscape briefly before catching sight of his red coat. It's not like you could miss Cartman from a mile away anyway. Around him, sitting atop the rotting picnic table in the otherwise empty park, were Stan, Kenny, Token and Tweek. Obviously Kyle was too much of a pussy-ass teacher's pet to skip class with them, or maybe it was the crooked joint that hung from between Kenny's lips that had deterred him. Either way I didn't care, and couldn't get away from them fast enough.

Cartman got off his fat ass and sauntered towards me. "Wah aren't you in class, Craig? What'd you this time, huh?"

"None of your business, asshole," I replied coolly, tossing my head to remove my long, dark bangs from my eyes. I should have worn my hat today – I could already feel the frost nipping at my ears.

"Well, normally they just haul you into MacLennan's office, so you must have done something pretty bad this tahm to be sent home for the day."

"For the week," I corrected him, and then watched as his round, red face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Spinning abruptly on his heel to face the rest of the group, he yelled,

"You gahs! You gahs! Craig got suspended!"

"So what?" Stan locked his gloved fingers together and stretched them above his head, finishing off with a shrug.

"So what? That's fucking hilarious!" Cartman's whole figure jiggled as he bent at the waist laughing. I watched absent-mindedly as Tweek took the joint from Token and pulled on it hard. That kid certainly had calmed down since he started smoking pot, but even though he no longer trembled and shook, his speech was still a little erratic.

"What – uh, oh god – what did you do?"

_Point proven._

Inside my coat pocket, I crossed my fingers. "MacLennan was being a bitch so I told her to fuck off."

"Whoa, really?" Token's dark eyes went wide with shock. "Good job!"

"You did not!" Cartman stopped laughing long enough to argue. "You're not _that_ hardcore, Craig. You would never tell the principal to fuck off." Under my bangs, I arched one eyebrow. _A challenge, eh?_

"I did, actually, you dumbass," To protect my new investment, I decided to elaborate a little. "She told me that I had been in her office too many times, and that I had to start talking to a councilor. I told her that she was being an overreacting bitch and that she should fuck off and leave me alone."

"Dude… intense…" Stan breathed smoke through his nose. I could barely hide my smile as they bought the lie.

"Yeah, I'm out," I turned my back to them and my wild grin broke loose. "I'll see you guys next week." As I walked I could hear Cartman yelling something after me, but I tuned him out easily and turned to go down my street.

* * *

A pickup truck I didn't recognize sat parked in our driveway, and I realized I'd better avoid the upper floor of our house as best as possible. Sure enough, the moment I walked through the door, I could hear thumping from my parents' bedroom. _Gross_. From the fridge I grabbed a can of Coke and the last slice from the cake my mom made two days ago, and hurried down to my room in the basement.

"Craig! You're home!" My thirteen-year-old brother's voice cracked as he greeted me with excitement. He sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, his back braced against my bed, my laptop balanced on his knees.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" I felt guilty the instant the words came out of my mouth. His eyes fluttered upwards and he gave the ceiling a long stare before looking straight at me, and I could practically read his mind: _that's why_.

"Fine, stay down here then," I sighed, opening my Coke and taking a long swig. "Just don't bother… hey, wait a second, why aren't you at school?" It had only just clicked that I had been sent home early into the afternoon, but since he was in grade eight; he should have had the whole rest of the afternoon away from the house. Away from all the bullshit.

"Mom wouldn't take me," He lowered his voice. "When I tried to wake her up she threw a pillow at me and told me to go back to bed." My hands pulled into tight fists. If mom wanted to be a lazy whore that was her problem, but that was no reason to deprive her son of his education. She already had one fuckup kid – that was more than enough. I started pacing the room, going over my options.

"I'm going to go up there…"

"Don't!" Jaden's head snapped up instantly. "Dad will be mad if he finds out that we know. Just play dumb."

"Is that how you deal with your problems?" My voice was probably angrier than I intended, but I was so frustrated I didn't think I could help it. "Just pretend like you don't know anything?"

"Well I don't know!" His bright blue eyes suddenly welled up with tears. "It's better than… than…" He didn't need to finish the sentence for me to know what he was thinking. I knew all too well and inadvertently glanced down at my arms. They were covered with a long-sleeved shirt, but when it was removed you could see all the bruises in the shapes of fingerprints. My ribs were probably bruised too, but I hadn't bothered to check. I shook my head to clear it, praying that my brother didn't undergo the same treatment I did. Maybe his idea of playing dumb had saved him a lot of pain.

I had placed my foot on the first stair when I heard what was unmistakably our front door opening and closing, followed by heavy footsteps. Dad was home – really, really fucking early. Too early.

"He's onto us," I muttered, whipping around to face my brother. "Jay, get in the closet. Now."

"Why?" He gently placed my laptop on the floor. I kicked it shut; it was old and a piece of shit anyway. Without another word I picked him up by his armpits and physically carried him over to my closet. "Craig… what's wrong?"

"Shhh," I tried to sound soothing, but my voice probably just sounded strained. In the darkness of the closet, I crossed my fingers. "I need you to stay in here. Don't worry – I'll stay with you. Nothing bad is going to happen…" _I hope_.

I listened carefully to the sounds above me as I pushed clothes and shoes out of the way to make room for Jaden and I. As I pulled the door shut, I could hear muffled yelling and screaming from upstairs, and with my free hand, I pulled my brother close to my chest. I winced slightly as he buried his face in my shirt – I supposed that was my confirmation that there were more bruises than just on my arms.

"Craig… what… what do we do?"

"It's okay," I lied. "You were right. Sometimes it's just easier not to be involved." I felt him nod and I bit down hard on my thumb. How long were we going to have to stay in here, and what were we going to find when we came out?

* * *

_Author's note: I do not own any part of Guster or their material/songs_


	5. E is for Easier to run

**E is for Easier to run**

"_It's easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb  
__It's so much easier to go than face all this pain here all alone…  
__If I could change I would, take back the pain I would  
__Retrace every wrong move that I made I would  
__If I could stand up and take the blame I would  
__I would take all my shame to the grave…"_

* * *

I carefully fingered the twenty-second page of our ninth grade yearbook, which was open in my lap. Maybe I was the biggest loser in the universe for precisely remembering every single page that had his picture on it, but at this point my memory was the last thing that was bothering me. I brushed my thumb over the still frame of his face and thought back to the moment it was taken.

For the entire summer between grade eight and grade nine, Kyle had been sent to Florida with his brother to spend some time with their grandparents. While Stan and Kenny threw a bitch-fest, I pretended that I couldn't have cared less – after all, I had spent my entire childhood hating on that Jew, and then I was supposed to miss him? But I did miss him; more than I was comfortable with. And it wasn't that I missed ripping on him or pushing him around, it was… just… different.

What made it worse was that when Kyle came back, he came back gorgeous. He had grown probably three inches, which substantially boosted your height at that age. His sunburn had faded into a perfect golden tan, he had lost a bit of baby fat and possibly best of all, he had given up his trademark green hat. The bright red curls touched the nape of his neck in the back, and dangled just below his ears in the front. If there was one way to convince me ginger kids could be really, really attractive, that was it.

The picture I gazed upon had been taken the first day of school by Bebe Stevens, our early-developed grade nine representative. She declared it her mission to take at least one picture every day of the school year, and then pick the best for our section of the yearbook. She had caught us at the end of lunch hour, going into our lockers for the afternoon's supplies, and tapped Kyle on the shoulder. He had glanced at her over his shoulder, lips slightly parted, eyebrows raised – you could just make out the glint in his emerald eyes. _Bebe Stevens, you might be an annoying bitch, but you sure take one hell of a picture_.

I closed the yearbook and set it down on the couch beside me, and heaved a sigh of frustration. Four years to the day since I had fallen in love with Kyle Broflovski… and he fucking hated my guts.

Two months ago we graduated from high school. Kenny had always ripped on me for my treatment of Kyle, saying that my teasing was overcompensation for my love of him, and I was thankful he was joking without knowing his accusations were spot-on. I had spent many sleepless nights wrestling with the idea of telling Kyle how I felt, but it was always easier to just keep the feelings buried deep down instead of risking being hurt forever.

It wasn't just the thought of telling Kyle that the fatass who had always mocked every facet of his life was desperate to hold him, either. There would be a huge fallout if anyone ever knew – my friends wouldn't respect me (or they would lose what little respect they had left), other teenagers would make fun of me, and I hated to think about what my mom would do if she found out. She did everything for me, sure, but I didn't think she was ready to handle that her son was gay. No, not gay. Just Kyle-sexual.

I picked up the following year's yearbook and paused briefly to think about which picture I was craving. Page one-oh-three. Halloween of grade ten. Unlike our grandiosely unoriginal costumes of childhood, the four of us had made a pact to _actually_ have the best costumes in the whole school, and we had kicked ass by all dressing up like chicks. Kenny's was the favorite among our classmates – his thin, wiry figure had given him the perfect cross-dressing shape – and he remained mostly indistinguishable from a girl until he spoke. Not even faking a high-pitched voice could mask his deep, soothing tones. Kyle's costume; however, was _my_ favorite. Since his genes had left him with creamy, mostly-hairless skin, he was able to wear quite a… revealing outfit.

I gazed at the picture of the four of us and bit back a toothy smile. How he stood next to me in a mini-skirt and hooker boots and never noticed my boner was beyond me. I must have had a hard-on the entire day; I definitely seemed to remember feeling sore and exhausted upon returning home.

As I closed the yearbook and set it on top of the first, I wondered what Kyle's first day of university must be like, without all his friends. Stan was in a different program, Kenny and I had opted to take a year off and work. Kenny obviously needed the money, and me, well; I wasn't prepared to make the commitments that university required, and at this point, I couldn't even stand to be in the same room as Kyle for the pain it caused. What hurt more was the fact that I wasn't willing to change enough to make the pain go away – I was just going to keep running until everything went numb.

* * *

_Author's note: I do not own any part of Linkin Park or their material/songs_


	6. F is for Five minutes to Midnight

**F is for Five minutes to midnight**

"_We could pack up and leave all our things behind  
__No fact or fiction or storyline, cause I need you more than just for tonight  
__You're oh, oh, all I care, I can't stop my breathing in  
__I'm weak and you are my medicine, I won't stop till I am under your skin  
__You know you wanna just let go, it's time to roll down the window  
__Sing it, oh, oh, oh, yeah, all we need so here we go…"_

_

* * *

_

"So uh, where are we going?"

Kenny turned to face me, lowered his sunglasses to the tip of his nose and looked at me over top of them. "Dude, have you never been on a road trip before?"

"Well… no," I admitted, fiddling with the curls around my ears. Cartman, from the driver's seat, laughed heartily but surprisingly didn't make any backhanded remarks. He had been in a good mood since we started driving at nine o'clock this morning, and I guessed it had carried him into the afternoon.

I glanced over at Stan, who was doing his best to smoke his cigarette out the open window. It bothered me a little bit that he had taken up the habit, and the thought of him getting cancer made me uncomfortable, but nothing could affect my friendship with the one and only Stan Marsh.

"I know we've only been on the road for four hours, and we haven't hit any towns yet, but you're going to have a fucking blast," Kenny put his feet up on the dash in front of him and slumped in his seat. "You just have no idea."

"Hey asshole! Get your feet off mah dashboard!" Cartman swatted at Kenny, who narrowly avoided catching a plump hand in the side of his head.

"Cartman, watch where you're driving!" I grabbed onto the door with my right hand and reached for Stan with my other, feeling uncomfortable as every muscle in my body tightened in panic. Stan looked at me under crooked eyebrows and flicked his cigarette butt out the window.

"Calm down," He smirked after a moment and shook my hand away from where it was clenched onto his electric blue t-shirt. "For all the things that Cartman is terrible at – and he is terrible at a lot of things…"

"Hey!" Cartman yelled from the front seat.

"…he is not going to kill us on the road. Believe it or not."

I considered for a moment. "Fine, I believe it."

Kenny leaned his seat back to the point where it touched my knees. I thought about arguing, but there was never much sense in arguing with Kenny, since it was impossible to stay mad at him. Even when he had ditched school for days at a time to huff cat urine or play PSP we still greeted him with smiles every morning and nothing but support through the hard times. I mean yeah, we had done some bad stuff but… didn't everyone do bad stuff when they were kids?

"Kyle. Kyle," Stan snapped his fingers an inch from my nose and I started, banging my elbow against the door handle. "You still with us, dude?"

"Yeah, sorry, just… thinking."

"About what?" Stan's genuine tone surprised me, as much as I was embarrassed to be able to detect the sincerity level in his voice. For some reason we had been drifting apart recently, which I imagined was part of the reason why Kenny had organized this whole road trip thing in the first place.

"About when we were kids," I sighed a little, and felt a pit in my stomach that could only be likened to homesickness. "It's actually incredible how much time we spent together."

"Maybe that's why we're so fucked up now," Kenny chimed in. "Always being around the same people makes you bat-shit insane. That's why relationships never work… that's why marriages don't last." His last few words were quiet and heavy. He didn't have to say any more – we all knew that he was still feeling pain from his parent's separation a few years earlier. I couldn't even imagine my parents getting divorced; I would be a blubbering, sobbing wreck if something like that ever happened to me. And then there was Kenny, still smiling, still laughing, like nothing was wrong. Only ever so often did we get these rare glimpses into his true self, and to be honest, it was hard to handle. The blonde young man was the most emotionally consistent "member" of our group, and it was terrifying to imagine him weakening… even for a second.

"Wow, that was a pathetic thought," I muttered to myself out loud without meaning to.

"What was a what now?" Stan was looking at me again. "We lost you there." I tilted my head in Kenny's direction and widened my eyes to signal that this is not something we should be discussing in our friend's presence. He nodded in acknowledgement. These were the times I loved being so close with someone, so much so that we could practically read each other's thoughts. Then again, I had always been that way with Stan.

"Okay, we're taking a piss break," Cartman announced, and merged into the furthest right lane. A green sign whizzed by us reading 'Next exit: 2 miles'.

"Aw, Cartman, we just stopped like an hour ago!" Stan protested, but the car was already veering off the main highway onto the on-ramp. Cartman reached down for the seat-adjustment lever and pulled it sharply so the back of the seat smashed into Stan's legs, then returned it to its upright position.

"Ow! Fuck dude, that really hurt!"

"You assholes can all just shut up!" He pulled the car up beside the small gas-station-diner-combination and poorly pulled into one of the parking spots. "Ah'm driving; it's mah car, so go to hell!"

"Sheesh, you don't have to go off the deep end," Kenny picked up an empty can from the cup-holder and shook it around for effect. "But maybe if you didn't drink so much soda, we wouldn't have to stop so often." Cartman mumbled something incoherent and left the car. Our golden-haired friend followed, leaving Stan and I alone. He unbuckled and turned to face me.

"So what was all that about?"

"What?"

"You drifted off, and when I asked you what was going on you said we couldn't talk about it in front of Kenny."

I smiled. "I didn't actually _say_ that."

"You know what I mean."

"Okay, okay. Well… Here's the thing. You know you're my best friend, Stan, but you can be… emotional, at times."

"So?"

"Well, it's like, when your emotions change so rapidly it makes you unpredictable, you know?"

"Kyle, I thought this was supposed to be about Kenny."

"I'm getting there. The point is, your emotions are easily swayed by the normal things: girlfriends, family, social situations, etcetera. Don't get me wrong, mine are too. Then you have Cartman, who…"

"Is a sociopath?"

"Yes, which makes him equally unpredictable. But Kenny… Kenny has always been different. With the odd exception in overwhelming circumstances, he's been the rock of our group. Stable, predictable."

"Okay, but why couldn't you say that in front of him?"

"God Stan, let me finish!" I snapped impatiently, and then snorted when I realized what my words sounded like. "That's what she said!"

He grinned for a moment. "Seriously though."

"Sorry. It's just… it's been two years since Stuart and Carol separated, but Kenny is obviously still upset. You heard what he said, about marriages never lasting."

"Dude, wouldn't you still be upset?"

"Yeah, but that's me. I almost died when Cartman got his own theme park, and he means way less to me than my parents. Kenny's different though, he's tough. Seeing him get emotional like that, and so dark, I won't lie… it scared me."

Stan put a hand through his black hair. "Jesus."

"I know, I'm pathetic," I moaned, leaning my head against the window. "Despite the whole poverty thing I always thought Kenny's family was one of the closest in South Park. Now his mom and brother live… where do they live again?"

"I don't remember."

"Hey losers! Stop making out and come get some food!" Kenny's face suddenly appeared in the window behind Stan and we both nearly jumped out of our skin. I tried to push the worries out of my head as we exited the car and made our way to the door of the small, greasy-looking restaurant. Stan stopped outside the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. After he shook one out and stuck it between his lips he extended the offer to Kenny, who – after a moment of silent contemplation – pulled another one out and gestured for Stan's lighter.

I wasn't sure if it was force of habit or out of politeness, but Stan next turned to me, holding the open pack in his outstretched hand.

"No thanks," I declined, as always. Part of me knew that my best friends wouldn't want me to be cursed with the same life-shortening addiction as they had to deal with, but I always felt a little pressured every time Stan offered me a smoke.

* * *

After five hours of what felt like endless highway, darkness was settling over the landscape and we had an important decision to make.

"Ah'm not sleeping in a god damn moving car, McCormack!" Cartman whined from the passenger seat. Kenny had taken over driving from our last pit stop to give the fatass a break, but it didn't seem to stave off his annoying complaints at all.

"Come ON, you're missing the entire point of a road trip! We can't sleep in a hotel! That's so lame!" Kenny rapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "This is an adventure, not a honeymoon. Man up, boys!"

"Actually, I'd rather not sleep in a car either," Stan winced as he spoke, like he was expecting a backlash. "And come on. We can all either be over-tired, sore and cranky for the rest of this trip, or you can let us stay in hotels and have a good time."

"But… but…" Kenny whimpered. "Kyle? What do you think?"

I swallowed and glanced over at Stan. "I don't really care, either way…"

"Kahl abstains!" Cartman declared triumphantly. "Hotel it is!"

"No fair," Kenny sighed. "Okay, it's 8:00 now. How soon do you want to stop, and where?"

Cartman waved his hand dismissively. "Don't look at me."

"But you're the one who wants to stop!"

I chose to stay out of the argument. Eventually Stan got involved as well, when it came to what grade of hotel we were going to stay in.

"Look, I know it's fucked but I do agree with Cartman," Stan sighed. "I'd rather be confident that the sheets I'm sleeping in are clean, that there aren't rats in the walls… you know, basic creature comforts."

"What are you, the fucking queen of France?" Kenny yelled.

"Kinny, just because your family lives knee-deep in dirt doesn't mean the rest of us have to," Cartman prodded. I watched in shocked horror as Kenny's face went blank, then drained of all its color, then contorted in rage. Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, and since none of us were expecting it, we all careened forwards. I hit my head against the passenger seat in front of me; Stan nearly got decapitated by his seatbelt, and though I couldn't see what had happened to Cartman, I knew something must have happened because he was making noises.

"Nyahhh… Nyyyyahhhh… What the fuck, Kinny?"

Kenny didn't respond. I kept my eyes locked on him; he had his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were turning white and bulging from beneath his pasty skin.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cartman, you are such a dumbass."

"What?" The largest of our group shuffled around in his seat so he could look at Stan on an angle. "Wah aren't we moving? Kinny, wah did you slam on the brakes? I wanna get to the hotel, let's go!"

"Ken…?" I ventured quietly, ignoring Cartman's pleas. "Kenny, are you okay?" His gaze was set straightforward, and he didn't even stir at my words. I leaned forward a little to see if I could get a better look at his face. I wasn't sure, but his sapphire eyes seemed glassy, like he was about to cry. I couldn't remember if I had even seen Kenny cry, except when he was faking it, and I felt my throat tighten at the thought.

"Fuck this shit," Before any of us could react, Kenny had opened his door and left the car. A harmony of blaring horns from other drivers signified that his exiting a vehicle on the middle of the highway was not welcome.

"I'll go get him," Stan rubbed his temples.

"No…" I unbuckled the seatbelt and opened my door. "I will."

When I got out, I did a brief scan of the landscape to find my friend – it didn't take much – Kenny was easy to spot with his golden hair and bright orange t-shirt. He had crossed four lanes of highway to sit atop the concrete median separating the two sides, power smoking what looked like one of Stan's cigarettes. After waiting for an appropriately large gap in the traffic (something I guessed Kenny had not done, hence all the horns), I reached the median and looked up at him.

"I'm sorry about Cartman."

"Don't be sorry, I should have known better," He tried to put laughter into his tone, like it was all a big joke, but underneath his voice was shaking. "I really should have known better than to invite Eric Cartman to join us in a small enclosed space for hours at a time. What was I thinking…?" He forced out a very fake chuckle. I shoved my hands into my jeans' pockets and averted my eyes.

"You know… you don't have to keep pretending you're okay with this."

His fake smile dropped. "What do you mean?"

"Well… the whole… your parents splitting up thing…" There was a long, longer than I cared for, moment of silence between us as Kenny pulled on his cigarette for the last time and flicked the butt into the middle of the road. Then, quietly,

"What if pretending is the only way I know how, Kyle?"

I was taken aback. "Um… well…"

"People have pitied me since day one, and I hate it. I just hate it. All day long in that tiny town, where everyone knows everyone else like family, people coming up to me saying, 'Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about what happened', like someone fucking died. I don't need it. I know what happened, I know it's not pleasant, I don't need to be reminded every god damn second of every god damn day for the rest of my life. If I don't act like I'm okay, if I look discouraged or downtrodden for even a minute, all I can hear is the buzzing of neighbors whispers, about how the 'poor McCormack kid' lost his mother and brother at nineteen, how he 'never saw it coming'. And they're right, but fuck, it's been two years, I'm twenty-one, Kyle. I'm an adult and I can deal with my shit by myself. Stop feeling sorry for me!" On his last word he slammed his hands down on the concrete, and two rebel tears escaped his eyes to roll down his gaunt cheeks. He brushed them away so quickly it looked like he was scratching an itch.

I was astounded at my own arrogance. Here I had thought that Kenny was trying to bring all of us closer together… when really, he was trying to get farther away from what was haunting him.

"I…" I didn't know what to say, but the silence between us was killing me.

"If you say you're sorry, I'm gonna punch you in the teeth." I noticed the corner of his mouth turn up a little and relief washed over me. Maybe all he needed was to explain it to someone.

"Hey, if you're going to punch anyone, punch Cartman."

"No way. My hand would get sucked into his fat and I'd never be able to get it out again!"

* * *

"Okay assholes, Ah'm gonna take this bed, and you three can share that bed," Our chubby friend sat on the end of one of the two double beds in our hotel room and folded his arms.

"Cartman, you can't just decide that," Stan argued. "There are two beds and four of us, so you have to share. Besides, there's no way three of us can fit into one bed."

"Are you kidding?" Cartman pointed at me. "Kahl is a scrawny little Jew, and Kinny is really underfed. Between the two of them they make up MAYBE one person." I opened my mouth to give him shit about being anti-Semitic (as usual), but Kenny intervened first.

"Tell you what. Why don't Kyle and Marsh share the bed, and I'll sleep on the floor."

"Dude!" Stan yelped. "Don't encourage him!"

The blond gave him a long, purposeful stare. "Do you REALLY want to share a bed with Eric Cartman?"

"Of course not! It's the principle of the thing."

"Too late! Kinny already made the deal!" Cartman let himself fall backwards onto the bed with a soft thud. Kenny made his way over to the closet to retrieve the extra blankets and pillows provided, and Stan started rummaging through his duffel bag. He came up with his toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

"Stan," I began hesitantly. "…Can I borrow your toothpaste?"

He smiled warmly. "Ever since we were six years old, you have not once remembered to bring your toothpaste when we go on trips."

"I know, I know," I snatched it out of his hand and fished my own toothbrush out of my backpack. "I really need to start making a list. I think I might have forgotten my deodorant too."

"Oh my god, could you two be any more like two sixteen-year-old girls having a sleepover?" Kenny flicked my ear as he walked past. "Anyway, since you all insisted that we stay in a hotel, can we at least go to bed soon so we can get an early start in the morning?"

"Screw you Kinny," Cartman huffed. "Ah'm on vacation, Ah don't know if Ah want to git up early and start driving right away."

"Oh come on, fatass," Stan called from the bathroom. "Kenny or I could drive and you could nap in the car. Deal?" I watched Cartman's face as he carefully considered Stan's words.

"No way," Was his conclusion. "The whole point of staying in a hotel was so Ah didn't have to sleep in the car." There was a communal groan from both Stan and Kenny, and I just kept my mouth shut. I knew that we would figure out some way or another to get him out of bed in the morning, and I was too drained to try and figure that plan out right away.

* * *

I awoke to Stan's elbow digging into my ribs, and when I tried to shift away from him I nearly tumbled right off the bed. His athletic build and muscle made him heavy, and difficult to move, so I decided that I would need to stand up to do so. Out of reflex I glanced over at the floor where Kenny should have been sleeping – the blankets and pillows were there, but my blond-haired friend was not.

Panic spread through my whole body as I tried to imagine where he could have gone. I checked my digital watch, which I hadn't bothered to take off to sleep, for some sense of reality. It read 11:55 pm.

"Kyle?" I had to stifle a scream at the unexpected noise from the far corner of the room. From just behind the curtains, perched on the windowsill, I could make out Kenny's thin figure. I took a few deep breaths to calm down.

"What are you doing?" I carefully made my way over to him in the dark, but when I pulled back the curtains, my heart dropped into my stomach. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, his face was salt-stained and wet, and his fingers were caked with fresh and dried blood. "I mean… what did you do?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He muttered. "I've done it ever since I was a kid… whenever I get really depressed I start chewing on my fingers… I guess I overdid it this time. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," I tried to speak as softly as possible, and took a seat on the windowsill beside him. "Why are you so depressed?"

His gaze shot upwards to meet mine. "Because, Kyle, everything reminds me that I'm totally alone in this world. No one cares about me. And don't start with your lesson-of-the-day bullshit, about how we all have this and that. Fuck off if you're going to say something like that." I bit down on my lower lip. He was right; I had nothing helpful to say. I had no idea how to reassure him that there were people who loved him.

"My own mother didn't even want me," He started again, his whole body trembling as he spoke and cried. "She said, 'Kinny, yer a grown man now and your father's a stupid alcoholic piece o' shit. Ah need tuh pertect yer brother from him, so you gotta stay here, oh-k-eh?' Why couldn't she have taken us both? I asked – I begged – to go with her, but she said there 'weren't no room' where they're going."

"Oh god…" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them. I had long lived with the looming feeling that my parents preferred Ike, but for a parent to actually confirm their child's suspicions of favoritism so blatantly? I suddenly felt like I had been punched in the stomach.

"Look… I know I brought you guys out here to have a good time. I thought it would take my mind off it."

"Kenny…" I inched closer to him, close enough that I was able to give him an awkward sideways hug. "We're your best friends. You don't have to keep suffering alone in a corner on a windowsill."

"It's true, as a group we're best friends… But…"

"But what?"

"But I don't have anyone special. Ugh, that sounds awful… I don't have a 'Stan', you know?"

"Hey, just because Stan and I are close, doesn't mean…"

"No Kyle, it DOES mean that. It means that I might be a close second, hell, I might be a check-the-photo second, I might measure up to Stan in every other way, but I can't have what you guys have. I want that."

For lack of something to say, I absent-mindedly glanced at my watch again. It read 11:59.

"Go back to bed, Kyle," The only way I could describe his tone was defeated. "Go back to your super best friend and just… just leave me alone." I was out of ideas, but I wanted him to feel better. In a moment of rare and incredible boldness, reached forward, tilted Kenny's face upward, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. I kept my eyes closed; I was terrified of his reaction and expected him to pull away at any moment. Instead, he did nothing for a second, and then kissed me back.

When we broke apart, he was smiling so broadly that a huge weight lifted from my chest. The weirdest part about it; however… was that it didn't feel weird at all.

"Err… Ken…" I mumbled as he brushed a few stray curls away from my forehead. "Can we just… I mean… can you not…"

"Don't worry," He leaned in and kissed me, harder this time. As he broke away, I felt his tongue dart across my lips. "I don't kiss and tell. I never will. Now go back to bed before your wife notices you're gone." Inside my head, and as much as I didn't like to admit it, I knew that if Stan and I were actually a couple, there was no chance in hell that _he_ would be _my_ wife.

"Kenny?" I stopped after a few steps.

"Yeah?"

"If no one else… I love you."

I caught the glint of his white teeth in the moonlight. "I love you too, buddy."

* * *

Author's note: I do not own any part of Boys Like Girls or their songs/material


	7. G is for Gun in hand

**G is for Gun in hand**

_"What, what was so bad?  
__What had he done, to make you return, this time with a gun?  
__Intimidation, growing bigger  
__What the hell made you pull the trigger?  
__Thought, thought this all through  
__Thought it might be fun, shot in the head, to show everyone…"_

_Author's note: This fic is violent and quite graphic towards the end. Please be cautious when reading - some scenes may be disturbing to readers._

_

* * *

_

_There's blood pooling at my feet_, I thought numbly as the thick red liquid began to stain the white rubber soles of my sneakers. The metal of the gun in my hand felt warm against my flesh; the section of skin between my index finger and thumb throbbed from slide-bite due to my inexperience with the weapon. Suddenly my cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and with my free hand I withdrew it out of reflex.

12/15/2010 – 2:13 am  
From: Clyde D.  
_Where the hell are you?_

I realized that I probably should have made some excuse with my roommate for where I was going to be, but he was supposed to be out for the night, and I certainly didn't think he was going to check up on me like my fucking mother or something. I hesitated a moment, staring at the screen, then deleted the message and put my phone away. With careful, steady movements, I bent down and untied my shoes, then slowly stepped out of them.

* * *

_"Craig Tucker, what on earth have you done this time?" My high school principal's high-pitched voice rang in my ears as she bounded across the property to where I stood, looking down at the limp and potentially unconscious body of Stan Marsh. As Mrs. MacLennan lugged her enormous weight up beside me, panting and red in the face, I shrugged and turned to leave. Her chubby hand grabbed my shoulder._

_"Explain yourself right now, or I'm calling the police," Anger flared in her tone as she spoke, but it didn't faze me. "Tell me what happened. Now." I looked at her, totally expressionless, my ice blue eyes boring straight into hers._

_"It's a long story."_

_

* * *

_

It _was_ a long story. The conflict between Marsh and I dated back to elementary school, but as we aged, our problems only grew worse. And the problem with fighting fire with fire… is you just get a really big fire. Not that I would have it any other way.

I fidgeted with the safety on the gun to keep my hands busy, feeling that I had caused enough destruction for the time being. As I contemplated admiring what I had done or just leaving the scene, my cell buzzed again – definitely Clyde. I rolled my eyes for no one in particular and pulled my phone out.

12/15/2010 – 2:25 am  
From: Clyde D.  
_Seriously, where the fuck are you? I know you're not at home, I checked your room._

I heaved a heavy sigh. Clyde was usually good for not bothering me, which made him the only person I could ever stand to live with. If I didn't need the second income to pay the rent, I'd definitely have been living alone by now. My thumb hovered over the 'delete' button, but I changed my mind and decided I'd give him a sarcastic reply instead. It would piss him off.

12/15/2010 – 2:26 am  
To: Clyde D.  
_I thought I told you to stay out of my room._

I let a corner of my mouth turn up in victory – it would annoy him that I was responding, but not at all answering the question he was asking. Feeling good about how things were going, I wandered back to the sight of my victim's body, lifeless on the floor, narrowly avoiding the ever-growing puddle of blood seeping out from under him. It seemed that no one ever really had a full appreciation for how much blood was in the human body until it was pouring out of a hole in their head and all over the floor of their apartment. I tried to remember the exact number of pints an average male held, but the memories from my previous year's biology class eluded me. Other memories; however, did not.

* * *

_"Fuck you, Craig!"_

_"Real original, Marsh," I never raised my voice when I was angry – I found it to be déclassé. "And don't get it in your head that this is all my fault. You're just as much to blame as anyone else."_

_He bared his teeth. "Liar."_

_"Excuse me?" I had turned away from him, prepared to leave before another fight broke out, but no one – not even Stan Marsh, everybody's favorite golden boy – called me a liar._

_"I said you're a liar! You know this is __entirely__ your fault!" I watched as he widened his stance, and knew we were only moments away from brawling on my front yard. Discreetly, I checked my surroundings: in case he tackled me, or threw me, I wanted to make sure I would be clear of any obstacles. That was the only problem with fighting Stan – he had filled out, broad shoulders, broad chest, the build of an athlete. Me, I had stayed lean, and my poor eating habits didn't help my already below-average weight. Since I noticed nothing that could seriously hurt me, I continued my calm and collected explanation._

_"Look, fuckface," I watched his face turn red and fought back a smile. "If you want to pretend you're innocent, I couldn't give a shit. But don't you dare call me a liar."_

_"That's it! You're dead, Craig!"_

_

* * *

_

_Ironic_, I thought as I stared down at his face, forever destroyed by the hole in his forehead. Pretty boy Stan Marsh would now be forced to have a closed-casket funeral. Or at least, I assumed that's what his family would choose. I had shot him from the doorway, across the entire apartment, so the bullet hadn't blown his face apart. Rather, it had entered a few inches above the bridge of his nose, causing the front of his skull to shatter at the point of impact. I'm sure the back of his head was worse, where the bullet had exited, as I could see a few fragments of bone on the floor, but I didn't feel like turning the body over to examine it. Suddenly, I felt a buzzing from my pocket. _Damn it Clyde, just go to bed already!_

12/15/2010 – 2:48 am  
From: Clyde D.  
_Damn it Craig, I'm too drunk to deal with this_

12/15/2010 – 2:49 am  
To: Clyde D.  
_Deal with what?_

I waited impatiently for Clyde's response. Something about the situation felt… off. I didn't like being in the dark, and I tapped the gun against my leg in anxiety, holding my phone in front of me with the other hand. When a few minutes went by and he still hadn't replied, I could feel my stomach tightening more and more by the second. Finally, the screen on the front of my phone lit up with a new message.

12/15/2010 – 2:52 am  
From: Clyde D.  
_Problem_

The color immediately drained from my face at his message. Before I had a chance to respond, however, I was distracted by a noise. As I tried to listen more closely, I realized it sounded like a microwave going off, and that it was coming from Stan's body. I moved closer to the sound, finally discovering its creator. It was Marsh's cell phone, showing four missed messages.

_

* * *

_

_As Stan's fist connected with my sternum, I stumbled back a few steps and felt my feet skid on the asphalt of our high school's parking lot. He rushed at me and I barely stepped out of the way, still wheezing from his punch._

_"This is for fucking my girlfriend!" He swung wildly in his rage and completely missed me, and I took the opportunity to catch his chin with my elbow. It seemed almost like he hadn't felt it, and came back around with another crazy punch. I did my best to dodge but his knuckles glanced off my cheek._

_"That's for fucking Kyle's girlfriend!" Another few attempts missed me as I skillfully evaded his strikes. Half the time I could have sworn my only saving grace was my light weight – it made me so much faster than him that we were pretty much an even match. I, however, fought to end the fight as quickly as possible. At my first opening I brought my knee up right into his stomach, which caused him to instantly double over and fall to his hands and knees. I took this opportunity to swiftly kick him in the side of the head, and he was face-down on the ground in mere moments._

* * *

All I could hear was my heart thumping in my ears as I flipped Stan's phone open to check the texts. They were all from within the last hour or so – or in other words, since my arrival at the apartment.

12/15/2010 – 1:45 am  
From: Kyle B.  
_Just saw on the news gunshots were heard in your apartment. You awake?_

12/15/2010 – 1:54 am  
From: Wendy 3  
_Kyle just told me there were gunshots from your apartment. Please call back ASAP! Love you 3_

12/15/2010 – 2:03 am  
From: Wendy 3  
_Stan, please call me. I need to know you're okay_

12/15/2010 – 2:05 am  
From: Wendy 3  
_Kyle is picking me up. We're coming over_

I glanced at my watch. It read 3:01 am. _That was nearly an hour ago_, I realized, and then something hit me harder than Stan ever had. Obviously someone would have heard the gunshots, but I had been so distracted by my final victory that I had planned to take care of all the other evidence, but hadn't taken sound into account. _Stupid, stupid._ My phone buzzed again.

12/15/2010 – 3:02 am  
From: Clyde D.  
_Something going down at Stan's place_

12/15/2010 – 3:02 am  
From: Clyde D.  
_Brof called me looking for you; said police are investigating the building, no one's going in or out_

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck._

_

* * *

_

_"Dude, it was an accident!" Stan stammered as I pushed through the doorway, gun gripped tightly in my extended hand. He continued to back away from me as I shut the door behind me and locked it. I noticed him heading for the cover of the bedroom, and cocked the pistol abruptly. He stopped._

_"Don't move," I smiled blandly. "It's really not in your best interest."_

_"I didn't mean to hit him, Craig, it wasn't like I did it on purpose," His voice was a little steadier now, but I didn't buy that he was any more confident about the outcome of this fight._

_"Accident or not, you fucked him up."_

_"I'm sorry!"_

_"Too little," I pulled the trigger once, but my aim was off and it whizzed by his head. "Too late."_

_"Shit dude, you're going to kill me over this?"_

_"It's been a long time coming, trust me," I took a step forward and cocked the gun again. "And yes, I do happen to think what you did is worth death."_

_"It was a mistake! I was stupid; I shouldn't have thought I could…"_

_"Shut up, Marsh," I fired again, but missed._

_"Craig, Craig listen to me," He pleaded, and I noticed a dark spot growing around the crotch of his jeans. "We're only eighteen. You are way too young to go to jail, and I am way too young to die. We've done a lot of stupid shit in the past but can we please, please just start over?"_

_"Permission denied," I cocked the gun and fired in one fluid motion. This one hit him square between the eyes and I was sure he was dead before he hit the ground._

_

* * *

_

Suddenly I could hear footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment door, and loud voices. There was definitely no talking my way out of this one. I reaffirmed that I had only used three rounds of my dad's 9mm, and briefly considered my options. The answer I came to made me smile, in some sick way, because I knew that if I was going to come to this, at least I would have the final say.

The metal of the gun finally felt cool against my temple as I held it there, waiting for the police to come knocking on Stan's door. With my free hand, I pulled out my phone and decided that I should at least put my best friend's mind at ease.

12/15/2010 – 3:13 am  
To: Clyde D.  
_Don't spend a lifetime trying to understand._

_

* * *

_

_Author's note: I do not own any part of Stutterfly or their songs/material._


	8. H is for Hook me up

**H is for Hook me up**

"_I'm tired of my life, I feel so in between  
__I'm sick of all my friends, girls can be so mean  
__I feel like throwing out everything I wear  
__Starting over new, 'cause I'm not even there…  
__Hook, hook me up (I wanna feel the rain in my hair)  
__Hook, hook me up (Where should we go, I don't even care)  
__Anywhere is good enough, hook me up…"_

_

* * *

_

The very instant I stepped into the dark, thumping club I regretted it. My dress was too tight and my heels were too high, not to mention being shoulder-to-shoulder with every greasy, sweaty guy looking to get a free grope in the place. Bebe; however, seemed to be right in her element, and unsurprisingly so. She knew the bouncers and bartenders by name, and based on the wave upon wave of girls and guys alike coming up to kiss her on the cheek, she was definitely among the regulars.

"Wendy, come meet my best friends in the whole wide world!" Bebe's voice was shrill as she shouted over the music. I suddenly thought, _if these are her best friends, then what am I?_ However, the thought was quickly dismissed as I was pulled into the circle of people standing at the corner of the bar.

"Oh Bebe, where have you been hiding this one? She is just gorgeous," A tall, lean, twenty-something guy reached out and twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. I resisted pulling away in disgust – first at his uninvited touch, second at being referred to as 'this one'. The two girls standing on either side of him shot me death-glares.

Bebe smiled broadly. "I know, right? Took me forever to convince her to come out. But I bet you'll be seeing more of her!" She looked at me pointedly, eyebrows raised, and I got the hint.

"Oh, yeah, totally," I wasn't sure if I was lying yet. Despite the fact that the club scene was really not my style, life in South Park had become dull after twenty-two years, and my monthly visits to Bebe's killer Denver apartment started becoming more frequent in a desperate attempt to escape the monotony of the small town where I had grown up. It had gotten to the point where I barely felt bad for leaving Stan behind almost every weekend.

"I'll be right back," Bebe tossed her golden curls over her shoulder. "I have to freshen up. Wendy, this is Josh, Taylor, Emma and Roxie. They'll take good care of you, I promise." I sincerely doubted that the girls had any interest in taking care of me, but the one Bebe has gestured to as Josh – the one who had touched my hair – sauntered up beside me and slid his arm around my waist.

"So, what's the deal babe?"

"Um, sorry?"

Roxie rolled her eyes dramatically. "He's asking what your deal is. Single, taken, lesbian?" She emphasized the last word heavily, and Emma poorly stifled an insulting giggle. I placed a hand on my hip and decided to play their game.

"Single." I secretly hoped Stan's ears weren't burning.

"Good to know," Josh flashed me a dazzling smile. "Wanna dance?"

"Yeah, let's go!" Emma grabbed Taylor's hand, and Roxie tried to grab Josh, but he slithered away from her grasp and took my hand instead. I could feel her eyes boring into my back as we headed for the dance floor.

The area designated for dancing was so crowded that I could hardly breathe, but that was club life, I guessed. Josh pressed against my back, and I couldn't tell whether he was just trying to dry-hump me or if he just didn't have enough space. Realistically, it was probably a combination of both. Bebe soon found us and pushed a drink into my hand. I tried to ask her what it was, but words were lost in a battle against the loud, repetitive techno beats. I decided to trust her judgment and swallowed the entire drink in about three gulps.

"Come on bitch, we're going to go do shots!" I almost missed Emma pulling Bebe back to the bar and decided to follow them. I needed the salvation from the dance floor.

"Oh, you're here," Roxie's upper lip lifted in total disdain as I leaned against the bar beside my best friend. Bebe laughed in an extremely air-headed way that I had never heard before – it was off-putting. I didn't know if I liked this change in her, but at least I was out. At least I was doing something. If I had to spend one more Saturday night in Stan's living room watching movies I was going to scream. Maybe I just needed more drinks, to forget about how much the sweating and the heat and the catty other girls drove me up the wall.

* * *

_Okay, maybe I had too much_, I thought as I felt my back connect with the far wall of the club's bathroom. Fortunately for Josh and I, the bathrooms were small and made for one person, and the lock was quite secure.

For a brief moment my mind flickered to Stan, but the guilt was overwhelmed by how good it felt to have a complete stranger tear off the slinky black dress Bebe had lent me for the evening and throw it on the floor, leaving me in nothing but a lacy thong. I wondered when the last time anything had felt this good. In mere moments my panties hit the floor as well, but Josh stepped back.

"What's wrong?" I panted, amazed at how a few shots and cocktails had turned pure disdain for this man into pure lust.

"Just thought I'd check out your smokin' bod," He grinned, running his eyes up and down again and again. "I'm glad we were able to get you to… loosen up." I noticed him tug at his belt and soon my clothes weren't the only ones strewn about. He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face the sink, then bent me over it. I felt a moan escape my lips involuntarily.

At first the thrusts were tantalizingly slow and rhythmic; I knew he was teasing me but it felt too amazing to complain. He held my long hair in one hand, forcing my head up so I could stare at us in the mirror. My fingers gripped the cold porcelain as the speed of our passions increased; I could feel my hips knocking against the dirty sink. Josh released my hair suddenly and grabbed my waist instead, pulling me towards him with every motion.

"Oh god," I whimpered, spreading my legs as wide as I could. "Just… right there… don't stop… please god, don't stop…" There was no doubt in my mind that sex between Stan and I had never been like this.

"Yeah, that's right," Josh yanked my hair again. "You beg for it."

"Please… please…" I moaned, suddenly feeling warm moisture dripping down one of my thighs. I had always managed to reach orgasm, but in my memory I never actually came during sex. That had to be what it was, though, because I could feel myself getting desperately close to climaxing. Josh began to grunt heavily and his face contorted strangely – he must be getting close too.

"Say you want it!"

"Oh god I want it!" I screamed, more liquid running down my legs. "I'm gonna…"

* * *

I opened my eyes to squint at Bebe's living room walls. The whole room spun sickeningly and I quickly covered my face with a pillow to avoid throwing up. My memories of the previous night were scattered and out of order, and I was only confident that seventy-five percent of it actually happened.

"Good morning," Bebe's voice greeted my ears, but was not welcomed. I groaned and tried to sit up.

"Yeah… morning…"

"Before you ask," She spoke softly, like she was afraid I would lash out at her next words. "If you're wondering if the whole encounter with Josh actually happened, it did. And almost the entire club heard about it."

"Oh great," I rubbed my temples slowly. "At least only strangers think I'm a huge slut now."

"Yeah…" Bebe placed a hand on my shoulder and frowned sympathetically. "Are you gonna tell Stan? Because I mean, what happens in Denver…"

"Stays in Denver, I know," I finished her sentence. "But what if after what happened last night, _I_ want to stay in Denver?" My friend looked at me, eyes wide, mouth open, completely speechless. Finally, after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, she took a sip from her hot pink coffee mug before replying,

"What about South Park?"

"What about it? You know as well as I do, Bebe, that place is a do-nothing, go-nowhere town. If South Park was any good, would you really be living here instead of there?"

"Point taken."

"If Stan and his friends are happy to live out their lives in stagnant monotony then they can have it. I need something more, I have to get out. I can't just keep doing the same thing over and over. I think that's why I let someone as creepy and obviously stupid as Josh fuck me, you know? It was just like… I was done caring about every little detail of what I do. Don't you ever just want to do something without thinking?"

* * *

Less than a month later I had moved into an apartment right across the street from Bebe, leaving Stan and South Park behind with barely so much as a second thought. I didn't like every aspect of Denver, and there were parts of my hometown that I missed, but the adrenaline of something new to look forward to helped me to forget any kind of home-sickness that might have cropped up.

As I smeared pink gloss across my full, soft lips, my cell phone rang on the table in front of me. Without breaking rhythm I picked it up and held it against my ear with my shoulder.

"Hey bitch," I greeted Bebe. "What's up?"

"I thought we'd hit up the dance floor to celebrate your big move! What's your poison – where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere is good enough," I smirked into the phone. "Hook me up."

* * *

_Author's note: I do not own any part of The Veronicas or their songs/material._


End file.
